Sword Hand
by BurningNightingale
Summary: When Gilbert loses his right hand in battle, he runs to home and the sanctuary of the small village he left behind years ago. Unsure of where to go or what to do now, Gilbert stays with his brother, the village blacksmith, and learns to deal with his injury.
1. Sword Hand

**A/N: My first story uploaded to this account! :D This was originally written for the kinkmeme, and conincidently was the first fill I ever posted there. Enjoy!**

* * *

One clumsy movement sent the mug flying, and the ale from the tankard spread in a dark stain over the packed earth floor, wringing a despairing cry from the man sitting at the table. "God's wounds!" Gilbert pounded the table with one fist. "I feel like the fool in a mummer's farce!"

Ludwig picked the mug off the floor and set it back on the table, then put a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "Stop being so dramatic," he chided.

Gilbert glared at him. "Easy enough for you to say, you are not missing a hand!" He brandished the stump of his right wrist under his brother's nose.

Ludwig was unfazed. "You still have one left," he pointed out, sitting down in the other chair at their table.

"My sword hand, Lud! My _sword hand_. How, sweet brother, do you suggest I go about earning my living as a sellsword while no longer able to wield a blade?!"

Ludwig frowned. "I always said you should give it up. It is dangerous work, and there is no honour in it."

"No honour, but lots of money," Gilbert grumbled, eyeing the empty tankard. "Get me more ale, would you?"

Ludwig shook his head. "And have you spilling more over my floor?"

Gilbert growled low in his throat. "You are not particularly sympathetic, little brother."

"You have been here for three weeks, eating my food, drinking my ale and wine and beer, and doing nothing more than complaining." Ludwig paused, and his face softened. "I know it is hard, Gilbert, but as I have told you before, you must accept that you can no longer pursue the life you once lived. You must take up a different profession."

Gilbert scoffed. "And what do you suggest? Carpentry? Farming? Last I checked, you need both hands for those professions."

"Stay here with me," Ludwig suggested. "I can find things for you to do."

"And be a burden on you for the rest of my life."

"You were not much help before either. None of the large sums of money you earned ever found their way back to me, did they?"

Gilbert stood from the table angrily. "I sent you money. I always helped you!"

"A pittance, Gilbert," Ludwig ground out between clenched teeth, still sitting stiff-backed in his chair. "The rest wasted on drink and whores, I would bet."

Gilbert turned and stormed from the room.

* * *

Their grandfather had been the village blacksmith, and their father was his apprentice. Their parents married young, and when Gilbert was two and Ludwig still a babe in arms, their father and grandfather left to go to war, joining the service of the local lord.

Their grandfather had returned, but his son had not.

Torn apart by anguish, their mother lasted only a year before she gave in to a winter fever and passed away. Their grandmother having passed before their parents married, it was left to their grandfather to bring up the two young boys. Gilbert was always the more adventurous, and Ludwig the more obedient. While Gilbert caused trouble in the village with the local boys and dreamed of becoming a knight, Ludwig diligently studied the blacksmith's art and learned everything he could from his grandfather. When Gilbert snuck off to join a company of sellswords aged nought but six-and-ten, no one was particularly surprised. Their grandfather died seven years later, and Ludwig had been the village's blacksmith ever since.

Gilbert had sent him scraps of money and letters occasionally, had even visited him once. Though he missed him dearly, Ludwig came to accept that his brother was a free spirit, and he would probably never be coming back permanently.

Until three weeks previously, when his elder brother had appeared on his doorstep looking weathered and haggard, missing his right hand and begging that he be allowed to stay.

Ludwig had let him in without question, and had spent the next week nursing him, even though his stump was healed over and he was suffering from no affliction but fatigue. Steadily, however, his brother's self-pitying attitude and constant complaining were fraying his patience.

* * *

They sat in silence for the evening meal, a heavy broth with generous chunks of lamb swimming in brown watery sauce. Gilbert felt a warm sense of pride at how well his brother had done for himself, mixed with a heavy weight of guilt. He had denied it, but Ludwig's accusation had been the truth; he had wasted what money he had earned, and had not garnered particular favour with any lord. He had no other profession, knew no other way of life, and would be of little and no use to Ludwig in the forge. _I could see if anyone is need of a housewife_, he thought to himself bitterly as he poked at the broth, _I bet I could still cook and scrub a table one-handed_.

"No need to look so downcast," Ludwig told him from across the table. "We will find something for you to do."

Gilbert just shrugged. When they finished the meal, he let Ludwig take his bowl away and, while he washed up in a small basin, went into his small room and retrieved a canvas bag from the chest at the foot of his bed. He returned to the main room and dumped it on the table; it landed with a clink that made it very obvious what was inside.

Ludwig regarded it with guarded interest as he dried his hands, and looked up at his brother for an explanation. "You have not asked how I came by my injury," Gilbert said softly.

Ludwig nodded. This much was true. When his brother had turned up at his door, Ludwig's first thought had been to care for him, not to question him about the circumstances that led to his injury. And when Gilbert had not seemed inclined to talk about it, Ludwig hadn't pressed. "You did not want to talk about it."

Gilbert nodded. "Some petty rebellion in the South," he said quietly. "A lord's son arguing over the inheritance with his older brothers. I never learned the details of it. He paid well, and that was all we cared about. The man who took my hand was from the East; he had one of those curved swords, a scimitar, they call it. Sliced through my wrist clean as a knife through butter. I fell, and someone came along after the battle and took me to the Healer's tents."

"It is a miracle you were not trampled or crushed," Ludwig murmured.

Gilbert nodded again, and then pulled the drawstring on the bag and upended the contents onto the table. "They healed me up and discharged me with my wages." He indicated the money on the table. "One bag of silver, and one gold piece for my injury. To tell you the truth, I have not brought it forward before, because…" He sighed softly. "This is all the money I have. You were right. I spent every penny aside from this on wine and feasting and girls, and now I have nothing, and no one but myself to blame."

Ludwig sighed, and came to stand by his side. "You may be annoying as hell, Gilbert, but you can stay here as long as you like. I am not going to look down on you for what you choose – or have chosen – to do. It was your money, and you had earned it, after all."

"What should I do with this, then?"

Ludwig looked confused. "Why are you asking me? It is your money."

"And how well have I ever spent money? It is the only contribution to this household I can see myself being able to give for the long foreseeable future, and I would have the more sensible of the two of us decide on the use of it."

Ludwig looked like he wanted to argue, but Gilbert stared him down until he sighed resignedly. "Fine, alright. I say take it and put it aside. I am making enough to keep both of us presently, but you never know when emergencies will happen."

Gilbert smiled, and collected all the coins into the bag again before pressing it into Ludwig's palm. "I have never been good at saving," he explained. "If you want it kept, keep it somewhere safe. If you should want things buying, though, say the word. I am brilliant at spending money!"

Ludwig laughed.

* * *

In the end, Ludwig took him up on his offer, and sent him down to the tiny market to buy vegetables. They kept only a few animals and a field themselves, enough to scrape by in a pinch, but since so much of Ludwig's time was spent in the forge, they bought a lot of their food as well. The shopkeepers were mainly the local farmers, and Gilbert knew them all. They all recognised him, as well, and gathered round to commiserate about his hand.

"What will you do for a living, now?" one of the farmer's daughters asked him.

Gilbert sighed even as he smiled at her. That was the most pressing question, and it was the only one the answer to constantly eluded him. "I have no idea," he told her, "Something helpful." And then he passed by, on his way.

A few moments later he heard a voice call his name. When he turned, he saw a familiar grinning face, waving at him from one of the stalls. He hurried over and found himself grinning too. "Hey, Feli. It has been years, huh?"

Feliciano's amber eyes were wide. "We heard you had gone off to fight wars, Gil," he said, the awe on his face reflected in his voice.

Gilbert shrugged. "I did. I am home now, though. Not a lot of fighting I can do with this." He held up the stump of his arm for a second, before self-consciously hiding it back under his long sleeve.

Feliciano looked distraught. "Oh, Gilbert, that is so horrible! You were so good with the branches when we were little! I thought by now you would be a knight and everything!"

Gilbert smiled sadly. "So did I, Feli," he said quietly, "So did I."

A gruff voice came from round behind the building Feliciano was standing in front of, calling his name. Gilbert's eyebrows rose. "That old man still alive?"

Feliciano shrugged. "He is not that old." He turned his head and shouted, "Here at the front, Grandpa."

"As old as my grandfather would be, and he kicked the bucket," Gilbert argued.

Feliciano's grandfather appeared around the side of the house, and Gilbert was taken aback at how sprightly he looked. He barely looked as if he had aged a day. When he saw Gilbert, he stopped for a second, then raised his eyebrows and smiled. "What a sight for sore eyes you are, Gilbert," he said with a slight chuckle. He came forward and dropped onto a stool behind their little table, and squinted up at Gilbert through the sun. "I heard all about your injury, of course. Terrible business, battles."

Gilbert shrugged. "I will survive."

"You should come down to the inn this evening!" Roma offered cheerfully. "There is a bard in town, they say. Not laid eyes on him myself yet, but those who heard him last night said he was mighty fine on the harp."

"I would love it, thank you."

"And bring that brother of yours along as well," Roma wagged a finger at him, "Never takes enough time off, that boy. He will work himself into the ground just like your grandfather, if we do not take swift measures to stop it."

Feliciano giggled, but Gilbert tried to maintain a serious disposition, if only not to offend the man. "Of course, I will make sure he comes along as well."

Roma nodded, satisfied, and Gilbert bought some carrots from them before heading back to the forge.

* * *

It seemed unlikely that anything could hold more interest for Gilbert in the small village than their encounter with the bard tonight, but as ever, fate had more in store for him than that.

Gilbert didn't register the clatter of hooves outside the front door as unusual; their house was situated on the main street of the village – the only street, if truth be told – and many horses rode up and down it. He was stirred from his book by the knock on the door.

He could barely believe his eyes when he opened it. "T-toni? That you?"

The hug Antonio pulled him into almost cracked his ribs. "We have found you at last!" he crowed, "Ah, Francis, come look, it is him!"

Antonio and Francis had been Gilbert's closest friends on the road. All sellswords together, they had stuck together through various groups, companies and battles, and none of them had taken on a job without the others. If you wanted one of them, you had to have all of them. Gilbert had been so ashamed and repulsed by himself, though, that on the day he left camp he hadn't told either of them where he was going. "You found me?" he managed to choke out.

"Of course, my friend. It was easy!" Francis came over and enveloped him in a hug, too. He had tied their two horses up to the small bar in the street, and he took bags from them when Gilbert insisted they come inside.

"Not actually that easy," Antonio said when they were all seated around the table. "This village really is in the back of beyond, you know that? Nobody seemed to know where it was."

Francis waved a hand. "But we have found you now, and that is what matters."

Gilbert looked down at the table. "I cannot join you, though," he said softly. "I cannot fight without my hand."

"We know," Francis' face was etched with pity. It made Gilbert's stomach twist, even though he knew his friend meant well. He hated being so _useless_.

"We could not let you leave without saying goodbye, though!" Antonio said, sounding scandalized.

"And we had to know where you were staying," Francis added, "So we could come visit you."

Gilbert looked up at them both, startled. "Really?"

They both nodded. "You know what we said," Francis smiled.

"If you have one, you have three!" Antonio cried, beaming.

Gilbert laughed, and tried not to let a tear spill from one eye. He couldn't wander the roads or ride into battle with them again, but his friends had not deserted him.

* * *

When Ludwig came in from the forge he looked slightly put-out at Gilbert's guests, but he promised they would only stay a night. And then when he suggested going down to the Inn for dinner Francis promptly offered to pay for the meal, which seemed to smooth things over nicely.

The common room was hot and crowded, but the atmosphere was warm and friendly. The air was thick with smoke and laughter, and a group of men were singing and dancing on a table by the bar, with someone playing a tune on a fiddle. The Innkeep's smiling daughter brought over their food, a warm soup with fresh bread and cool ale. Francis pronounced it delicious and well worth his coin. Gilbert knew they had all eaten far more extravagantly elsewhere, but the Inn's food was good for what it was. They chatted amicably over dinner, and other villagers were attracted to the new faces. Antonio and Francis fended off a hundred questions each, but they were used to it.

When they had finished their meal the man with the fiddle, who was by day the village's tanner, called and chivvied Gilbert up onto the table with him to sing along with his tunes. Gilbert had quite a strong voice, though he didn't like to boast about it. "A singer's voice!" the Innkeeper proclaimed, and then furrowed his brow as if in thought.

When the song was over, the Innkeeper took Gilbert's arm and led him into a quieter corner of the room. A young man and woman who were unfamiliar to Gilbert were sharing a plate of fried fish at a secluded table. They looked up with interest when the Innkeeper announced, "I think I have found the man you are looking for, Edelstein."

Gilbert stared at him, confused, while the young man at the table gave him a long look. "The one who was singing just now?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"The very same."

"Sorry, what is going on?" Gilbert asked, confused.

"Edelstein here is looking for someone to sing with him," the Innkeeper explained. "You like travelling, Gil, and you have a good voice. It would keep you fed."

Gilbert put two and two together and said to the young man, "You are the bard. The one Roma was talking about."

Edelstein inclined his head. "The very same. Here, sit. We can discuss my terms. Oh, and call me Roderich, by the way." He motioned toward the woman, "And this is my wife, Elizaveta."

* * *

Gilbert came back to the forge late that night. When he had finished talking to Roderich and his wife, the Inn was nearly empty, and Antonio, Francis and Ludwig had gone home. He found his brother waiting for him at the table, though. "You should have gone to bed," he chided, hanging up his coat.

"I determined to come looking for you if you did not return by three," Ludwig said, yawning. "The Innkeeper told me you were discussing business with the bard."

Gilbert nodded. "He wants me to join him on his journeys."

Ludwig looked surprised. "Really?"

"He plays the harp and the flute like he was born to it – I heard him play – but he does not quite have the voice to match. Apparently he likes my singing. He travels on the road with his wife, who would be our protection."

"The wife?"

"When you have been around as many fighting men as I have, brother, you learn to know which man carrying a sword knows how to use it and which man does not. That woman had a well-cared for sword, and I could tell she meant business."

Ludwig shrugged. "It sounds like a golden opportunity. When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow evening. Though I feel guilty, leaving you alone again," Gilbert came and sat beside him, "You will stop focusing on your work so much, for me? If you make yourself ill there is no one to look after you."

Ludwig smiled. "I will think about it. Now, get yourself to bed. If you are leaving tomorrow there will be a lot to be done."

* * *

Gilbert left the following evening, in high spirits and showing off his singing talent by belting out a rather crass song about a young maiden and a sea-creature in love. Ludwig thought Elizaveta looked like she wanted to clap him over the head with one of the frying pans she'd loaded onto their pack horse, but Roderich had the hint of a smile playing around his lips. They'd disappeared into the growing dark with Gilbert shouting back promises to come visit him soon, and Ludwig had returned to the forge alone.

He didn't like to admit to himself that he felt lonely; after all, he had been alone ever since their grandfather died, and he had done just fine by himself. But the past three weeks of Gilbert's presence had left an ache for human company that Ludwig quietly wished he could fill.

He lit a small candle and used it to light his way up the steep and crooked stairs to bed. He checked out of the window before he pulled the curtains across it; the moon was full and rode high in the sky, and lit the land almost like the sun. Ludwig smiled to himself. It was a good night for travelling.

When he sat down on the bed he heard something clink. Confused, he shifted, and heard the noise again. When he lifted the mattress, he saw that a small bag had been tucked underneath.

He smiled as he picked it up. Gilbert had attached a small piece of parchment to the drawstring, on which he had written, 'Rainy day fund! See you soon, little brother!'

Ludwig placed the small bag in the chest at the end of the bed, and then lay down to sleep.


	2. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

The Great Hall of the castle was full of smoke and noise and laughter. Long tables extended from the dais at one end to the large oaken doors at the other, covered with platters of fine food. Benches were drawn up to each table, each filled with more people than they could comfortably hold, and their occupants were shouting and eating, laughing and fighting, and the wine was flowing like water.

Gilbert and Roderich had set themselves up at one end of the long dais, and had been playing recognizable and popular tunes throughout the evening. Requests had flooded in from all around, conveyed through shouts of approval and occasionally through messages from the Lord of the castle, who sat resplendent in the High Seat under a huge banner emblazoned with the family's sigil.

They finished their current song, and while Roderich tuned his harp Gilbert leaned over. "How rich is this guy, then?" he asked in an undertone, nodding toward the High Seat. "Good pay?"

"They say he owns half the West-country, and is the richest man in the kingdom," Roderich said boredly. "I would not hold your breath for a pot of gold, though."

"Why, I think my sweet voice could wheedle a pot out of him," Gilbert grinned. "Just a little one, though."

"The Tale of Danny Longshanks!" someone yelled from the crowd, and Roderich sighed almost imperceptibly. Gilbert knew he preferred classical, cultured pieces to the ballads, ditties and folk songs they had made their stock and trade, but no one except petty city nobles who wanted to show off their 'taste' actively employed anyone to play those pieces for money. Even high lords preferred traditional, unpretentious fare, it seemed.

Later in the evening when things had quieted down, one of the young ladies from the dais had taken up a vacated seat at the end of the table and asked them to play love songs and romantic ballads. She sighed prettily at the end of every one, and spoke passionately about the wonders of true love whenever Roderich stopped to tune his harp.

Eventually, a young knight whom Gilbert assumed to be her brother came looking for her. "Your mother says you should be in bed at this hour, Lili," the young man told her disapprovingly.

"Ah, but, these men play so beautifully…" She could obviously see she wasn't going to win the argument, though, so she bid them both a goodnight and asked the young man to pay them handsomely, as they had won her favour, and then disappeared.

The young man sighed irritably as he counted out a number of coins into one hand. Gilbert grinned as he saw a flash of gold between the man's fingers. "Was that fair maiden your sister, my lord?" he asked pleasantly.

"No, a distant cousin," he replied. His clothes were of the finest cloth, and his cloak was a heavy scarlet lined with gold. A lion-shaped brooch clasped it at his shoulder, which matched the sigil of the House and marked him as the family of the lord. His hair was a sandy blonde, and when he looked back up at Gilbert he noticed how green the young man's eyes were.

_I would include those details, were I to make a song_, he thought to himself as he bowed his head graciously and murmured a thousand thanks for the money the young man deposited into his hands. _I would _not_ mention those huge eyebrows, though_.


End file.
